


3-Master Class

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 3, What Was Old is New Again [3]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, PWP, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-20
Updated: 2001-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan learns a new dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3-Master Class

“What’s wrong, Padawan?” Qui-Gon looked up from his correspondence as his apprentice came through the door with an uncharacteristic look of disappointment on his features.

“I must report that I’ve failed you, My Master,” Obi-Wan began apologetically. “I went to see the Etiquette and Customs Master as you suggested, but was unable to learn what you requested.”

“And why is that, Obi-Wan?” the young man’s master returned with rising amusement. He could tell by the twinkle in his apprentice’s eye that this was not a serious matter.

“Because Master Erandrou has no rhythm!” Obi-Wan seemed equal parts exasperated, disgusted, and amused.

Qui-Gon chuckled. “I wondered if that might be a problem. Did you make any headway at all?”

“Well, theoretically I’ve learned the steps, but I’ve no idea how they relate to the music. No, that’s not quite true: I have a very good idea of how they relate, but no actual experience, since Master Erandrou couldn’t dance on the beat to save her life. I even let her lead.”

“We’ll see if we can fix that deficiency after dinner,” Qui-Gon smiled.

“I was hoping you’d say that, Master.” And now Obi-Wan was beaming.

Over dinner they discussed the upcoming mission—a “cake” assignment that was a sort of reward for enduring a number of grueling ones in a row. Since Qui-Gon’s return to active duty following his execution of Xanatos, he and his apprentice had barely touched down on Coruscant before being reassigned and shipped off again, first to a frustrating and potentially explosive treaty negotiation; followed by a dangerous reconnaissance mission for the military; then to effect the covert retrieval of a downed, ultra-secret experimental ship and its pilot from unfriendly Corporate Sector territory; then to a tedious and tense strike negotiation; and, finally, to a slightly less tense and ultimately quite pleasant escort mission. At least after returning to the Temple this time, they had been allowed a few days of down-time before reassignment, and their new mission was, indeed, cake.

“I love going to Alderaan,” Obi-Wan remarked happily, finishing the last of his soup.

“It is a rather pleasant place, isn’t it?” Qui-Gon agreed. “And House Organa’s summer palace is quite beautiful. You’ve never met any of this branch of the ruling family, have you?”

“No, only the Antilles.”

“You’ll like them. Bail’s intelligent and witty with a real passion for everything his world stands for, much like his mother. His father is an archaeologist, a bit bookish, but a kind man, and very interesting and widely traveled.”

“You’ve known the father—Loran, isn’t it—for quite a while, haven’t you?”

“Yes, we met when he was on one of his digs, many years ago. There was a typhoon on the coast of the continent where it was located, and I was sent in to help with the search and rescue. Loran had left his dig in the interior and brought his staff out to help as well. We worked together for several tenths, got to know one another quite well, and been friends since. I’ve more or less watched his son Bail grow up. It’s a pleasure to be invited to his swearing-in ceremony. I think you’ll like Bail. He’s a bit older than you—done a stint in the home guard before going into politics.”

“I look forward to meeting him,” Obi-Wan replied. “It’s always interesting meeting your friends.”

“Not half as interesting as meeting yours,” Qui-Gon returned, waggling his eyebrows with a comic suggestiveness. “Yours are lovely young women and men. Mine are all dried-up old farts.”

Obi-Wan looked at his master as though Qui-Gon had suddenly sprouted horns. “Dried up old farts, indeed,” he replied, aghast. “I’m sure Master Windu would not appreciate being described that way.”

Qui-Gon made a face. “‘Fart’ is probably a bit harsh, but the ‘dried up’ part of the description is certainly accurate.”

Obi-Wan snorted and finished the last of his salad. “So why did you want me to learn this particular dance?” he asked, taking another bite of the broiled fish.

“It’s a favorite of Alderaani and I’m quite certain you’re going to be asked to dance by any number of Bail’s friends and associates at the reception afterwards. It wouldn’t do to have my apprentice make a fool of himself.”

“Well, I’m quite likely to without some practice. Master Erandrou was very little help at all. Poor thing’s got two left feet.”

“And rumor has it you don’t. Far from it, in fact.”

“What rumor?” Obi-Wan looked indignant.

“Masters, of necessity, keep themselves tuned to the padawan ‘net. I’ve heard about your behavior on Coruscant club dance floors, Obi-Wan. I think Bant described it with the word ‘wanton,’ among others. And besides, I’ve seen you dance at other official functions. I think you’ll enjoy this one.” Qui-Gon said with a studied blandness belied by the glint in his eye. “I’m certain your partners will. If you’ll clean up, I’ll get things ready in the common room.”

Obi-Wan cleared the table with a sense of subdued excitement. In their exhausting schedule, the personal areas of their relationship had been given short shrift of late. Obi-Wan was looking forward to amending that situation—at least as much as Qui-Gon was, apparently.

“Leave the rest,” he said, appearing in the little kitchen and holding out one hand.

Obi-Wan took it, glad to feel the calloused palm and long, blunt fingers wrapping around his own. Qui-Gon led him to the common room, where the furniture had been pushed back against the walls, leaving an open space the size of a small dance floor.

“I’m afraid we can’t do anything about the carpeting, so it’s probably just as well you’re barefoot. Remember that the glides will be easier on a hard floor.”

“We could go to one of the practice rooms,” Obi-Wan suggested, hoping they wouldn’t. The prospect of dancing alone with Qui-Gon in their quarters was too attractive.

His master seemed to think so, too. “We could, but it might not be as satisfying an experience.”

“Well, let’s get started here, then,” Obi-Wan grinned.

Qui-Gon smiled, turned on the music, and took Obi-Wan’s left hand in his right and wrapped one arm around his torso to place his left hand in the middle of the young man’s back, between his shoulder blades, resting over the pictogram for passion. Obi-Wan’s right hand came to rest on Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

“Show me what you’ve learned, Padawan. I’ll lead.”

The music had a quick, syncopated beat which, coupled with the strings and winds, became sultry and arousing, almost overtly sexual. Qui-Gon led him through the basic steps he had learned from the Etiquette and Culture Master, although it was an entirely different experience. His master’s movements were as smooth and fluid as they were in the katas they practiced together, or the ki exercises he greeted the day with, where Master Erandrou’s had been clumsy and awkward. Qui-Gon held him comfortably close, where she had held him at almost arm’s length, as though afraid to touch him. It had felt equally strange to be led by someone who was so much smaller than he was, as well, and not at all strange to be led by his master, who had done so often in katas, sparring, and in other dances. Finally, Qui-Gon’s own sense of rhythm was quite as well-developed as Obi-Wan’s and he had an intuitive, instinctual understanding of the music and beat.

They danced silently for several minutes, Obi-Wan concentrating on remembering what he’d been taught, hearing the music with his body rather than his mind, following Qui-Gon’s subtle body language to guide the turn, step away, lunge, whirl out and back in of the dance. The music ended with him standing beside his master, their hands clasped. “It’s customary, at the end, to bow to your partner as well,” Qui-Gon instructed, doing so. Obi-Wan returned it and stood up to await Qui- Gon’s verdict.

“Not bad at all, Padawan, for having had an awkward teacher. I think if we practice a bit more you’ll be quite proficient enough in the basics to learn a few of the flourishes.”

“There’s more?”

“Oh yes. Arigo is not only a social, ballroom dance, but an art form. It can be both totally improvisational and carefully choreographed. There are, in fact, entire Arigo ballets. Did Master Erandrou tell you anything about the history of the dance? Why it’s called what it is?”

“Only that it comes from the Low Alderaani word for the verb ‘to have.’”

Qui-Gon looked both puzzled and amused. “I think you must have flustered her somehow, Padawan. She’s not usually so slipshod.”

“Well, she did seem rather embarrassed to be asked to teach me this particular dance. Perhaps you can explain why?”

“As we dance, Padawan.” Qui-Gon agreed, restarted the music, and took Obi-Wan in his arms once again. “Arigo began, as so many dances do, as a dance of the poor, in the streets and slums, some centuries ago. The Alderanni, as you know, are a very sensual people who love life. Most of what they do in the arts celebrates love in its many forms. Love as passion—“ and here Qui- Gon’s hand drifted slowly over the appropriate raised Danjii pictogram on Obi-Wan’s back, “—Love as physical pleasure, spiritual love, unattainable love, forbidden love, new love, old love, dangerous love,” Qui-Gon murmured softly in his ear as they danced, sending pleasant shivers through him. Obi-Wan’s feet were already nearly on automatic as his master held him closely. “Love and dancing and music were all many people in the slums had. Arigo became a way of expressing both passion and frustration. At one time it was a defiantly political act to dance it in the streets. The meaning of the verb from which Arigo takes its name is much closer to ‘take’ than ‘have,’ with the sense of aggressively seizing, and has the slang meaning of taking another sexually.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan acknowledged in a strangled little gasp as Qui-Gon’s groin brushed firmly and purposely against him.

The music and beat had become so much a part of him now that he didn’t need to think about it, as was the case when he went dancing in the clubs. It moved through his body like the blood in his veins, driving him through the appropriate steps without his conscious thought, the dance having become just another way of moving, the way the katas became a part of sparring. He found himself looking up into Qui-Gon’s eyes, which seemed a particularly deep blue just now, and smiling foolishly. They moved against each other slowly as the music dictated, with only enough space between them to give them room to maneuver. Before he realized it, the first song had ended and they were halfway through another.

“Much simpler than learning a kata,” he observed, feeling confident he’d gotten the idea.

“Just wait,” Qui-Gon told him. “It becomes more like one with the additional steps. “Like this, for instance. Step here, then like this, and I bring you over my hip like this, and then a dip and back into it on the beat. Very good, Padawan.”

“Once more? That was fun.”

“With pleasure,” Qui-Gon smiled. “As many times as you like.”

They danced for some time, and as it did with katas, the minutes quickly turned to an hour. Learning what Qui-Gon called the flourishes was as absorbing as learning a new kata, but even more enjoyable, since much of it involved very close contact with his partner. Obi-Wan was once again amazed that someone so large could move with such lightning grace, with or without the Force. Halfway through, both of them removed their outer tunics, having worked up a good glow.

“This isn’t a dance for strangers, is it?” Obi-Wan observed, watching Qui-Gon fold his tunic and put it on the chair on top of his own.

“You may start out strangers, but if it’s done correctly, you’re likely enough to end up lovers by the time the dance is finished,” he agreed, pulling his padawan back into the music.

“It’s very nice dancing with you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon told him some time later, large hands sliding down his padawan’s outstretched arms, then clasping the hands and moving them over his head, arching their bodies together. “You’re just the right size. Most women are just a little too small for me. Of course it’s also a little more work lifting and flinging about 80 kilos of hard male muscle than, say, 50 kilos of soft, feminine flesh,” he teased.

“But just as cuddly,” Obi-Wan reminded him, going up on his toes and putting a little more arch into the arch so their groins brushed again.

“More, in fact, when it’s you,” Qui-Gon agreed, pulling him closer and turning the young man in his arms until they were back to front, pressed tightly together, bodies moving sinuously across the floor in an elegant step-and-glide.

The music cycled several times until at last Qui-Gon stepped back, bowed and said, “I think you’ve a good grasp of the basics and enough of the more complicated steps to be able to improvise competently.”

“Let’s see if I’ve grasped the subtext as well,” Obi-Wan replied with a smile both sly and knowing.

If it had been pleasant dancing with Obi-Wan before, now Qui-Gon began to understand the adjectives the other padawans used to describe Obi-Wan’s club dancing. He began to move before the music was even audible and it came up right on the beat he created with his hips, as though he were making the music himself, or it were being made for him. He slipped into Qui- Gon’s arms like a ship into its home berth, molding his body to his lover’s but keeping his weight on his own feet, and followed Qui-Gon’s lead seamlessly, falling into turns and dips as though he were reading the older man’s mind. The music seemed to flow around and through him the way the Force did, binding him to his partner, to the dance, to the rhythm, making them all a seamless whole. All the while, his hips swayed invitingly, lasciviously, the music Qui-Gon could hear a muted facsimile of what moved in Obi-Wan’s body. Obi-Wan had more than mastered the dance; he had become it.

On the foundation his master had given him, the younger man added his own practiced rhythms and movements, following where the music led him, touching his partner as lovers would touch and tease. Their lips brushed fleetingly as they swayed face to face. Obi-Wan drew his palm tenderly across his master’s cheek as he was spun into a turn, fingers trailing across neck and throat and chest then curving around his waist possessively as he spun back. His body arched back with trusting abandon over Qui-Gon’s arm, one hand closing familiarly on his shoulder, the other slipping inside his lover’s tunic as he came back up, then sliding salaciously down his thigh as he dipped onto one knee and was flung up and out into another spin. Jerked back into Qui- Gon’s confining embrace, arms crushed to his chest, he undulated against the taller man’s body then leaned up and bit his earlobe. As Obi-Wan danced it, Arigo became an intimate and private form of foreplay, and he danced it as if he had been doing so all his life.

Qui-Gon returned the touches with a sort of stunned amazement. He had danced with Obi-Wan before, and danced this particular dance with others, but the concatenation of partner and steps was something altogether different and unexpectedly arousing. With Obi-Wan in his arms, he understood at last the fervor with which he had heard some Alderaani describe Arigo, and he could see how such open and embodied passion could be a both a sexual and political statement. The raw sensuality in it spoke of unbridled emotion and instinctual action, the very opposites of civilized order. It would not take much to turn this kind of smoldering fire into some kind of violence, either a threat to that order or an affirmation of life. And it was the life in that sinuous body he held that moved Qui-Gon so deeply.

He leaned down and nuzzled Obi-Wan’s ear and neck with prickly soft beard, hands sliding down the outside of the swaying hips to grasp the backs of his thighs and lift him briefly so they were groin to groin, cocks grinding together, Obi-Wan then sliding down the outside angle of one of Qui-Gon’s long legs to drape himself over it and the floor. On the way back up, his hands peeled away Qui-Gon’s tunic and the favor was quickly returned as they swayed together, Qui-Gon’s large hands framing the pictograms as they slid the cloth over Obi-Wan’s back and up his arms, as though there were someone to see them. He held the smaller man’s arms over his head and turned him again, so they were back to front and Obi-Wan clasped his hands behind Qui-Gon’s neck while his master’s slid around to hold his waist as they did another sideways step-and-glide. The larger man’s hands slipped smoothly down Obi-Wan’s chest and beneath the waistband of his pants as they moved, one of them closing electrically around his cock.

“I’d bet that’s not in the standard repertoire of improvisational moves, stranger,” Obi-Wan gasped, almost losing the rhythm.

“It is now, my love,” Qui-Gon breathed into his ear, squeezing him with a steady rhythm, thumb rubbing over the crown.

Obi-Wan moaned, his knees nearly buckling, but his hips kept moving. Only the direction had changed, as they thrust into Qui-Gon’s hand.

But the hand slid away, moving out from beneath his waistband and back up his chest to tease his nipples as the other one was doing. Qui-Gon’s hips moved against him in counterpoint and he could feel his lover’s arousal hard and hot in the small of his back.

By now, both of them were covered with a fine sheen of sweat and the finer points of the dance were mostly forgotten, though their bodies still moved unconsciously with the music’s rhythm. Obi-Wan turned in Qui-Gon’s arms, opened the fastenings on his pants, and let the swaying of their hips divest his master of the last of his clothing. Qui-Gon stepped out of them and caught Obi-Wan when he would have gone to his knees. “No, let me, love,” he murmured, large hands sliding beneath the cloth at Obi-Wan’s waist again, loosening the fastenings and sliding them off in smooth centimeters, as he crouched slowly and finally rested on his own knees and heels just as one dance ended. When another began, his hands moved up the back of Obi-Wan’s thighs to his ass and pulled him closer, until he was straddling Qui-Gon’s bent legs.

Hips still swaying gently to the music, he let Qui-Gon guide him closer until his lover’s bearded cheek was resting against his erection, rubbing the prickly surface slowly up and down the shaft, in half-time to the music. Obi-Wan moaned and carded his fingers through Qui-Gon’s hair, loosening the tie and flinging it aside where his partner might have flung him out into a turn. Qui-Gon ran his tongue up the underside of Obi-Wan’s cock, hands mirroring the upward motion on the backs of his thighs, then pulled Obi-Wan toward him, letting the younger man’s cock slip into his mouth, closing his lips around it at the root as he relaxed his throat and took in all of his lover.

“Oh gods Qui,” Obi-Wan moaned, hands clenching in the older man’s hair, hips rocking back and forward slightly, legs trembling. Qui-Gon’s hands moved to his hips, moving them more, pulling back a little himself, until Obi-Wan’s cock was working in and out of that hot, tight suction and the agile tongue that moved over it.

Obi-Wan was trembling everywhere now, not sure he could hold himself up much longer. Qui- Gon’s mouth moved over and around his cock, pulling back to the crown, tongue circling beneath the foreskin and pushing it back, probing into the streaming slit and licking away pre-cum, then plunging down over it again and sucking hard as he drew back again. Obi-Wan’s hips began to move in a quick doubletime of the music’s beat, and Qui-Gon let him slide deeply into his throat, swallowing around him, throat closing over the crown and shaft. Obi-Wan arched back against Qui-Gon’s hands as they slid up to his waist, let his own hands clench in Qui-Gon’s hair. “Oh gods Qui suck me!” he shouted, shaking as he came, hips jerking with a new syncopated rhythm. “Suck me!” he repeated more faintly and again, words trailing off into a moan in the same key as the music, as Qui-Gon pulled away from him and let him collapse onto his lap, still straddling him. “Oh Qui . . . oh . . .” he sighed, arms going around Qui-Gon’s neck, mouth coming down on the older man’s, tasting himself as his tongue followed where his cock had been.

“Mmmmm,” Qui-Gon responded, pushing back into Obi-Wan’s mouth. “Sweet,” he murmured, “So sweet,” and swept his tongue across Obi-Wan’s palate, tickling lightly until Obi-Wan giggled into his mouth and pulled away, making a face.

“That’s such a funny sound coming out of you,” Qui-Gon observed, looking amused, hands traveling lightly up and down Obi-Wan’s sweaty back.

“I think you do things like that on purpose, just to hear it,” Obi-Wan accused, face still contorted as though he’d gotten something stuck between two teeth and was trying to dig it out. Qui-Gon laughed, watching him. “The annoying thing is that it lingers and you can’t scratch it. The only thing to do is suck on something.” He suited words to action and swept his own tongue into Qui- Gon’s mouth, then suckled his lower lip for a bit and leaned back again, hands sifting through his lover’s long hair again. “What do you want, Qui? Shall I return the favor?”

“I’d rather be inside you,” he said, voice so husky with desire that it made Obi-Wan shiver. “If it’s what you want.”

“Always, love, always,” Obi-Wan murmured, kissing him again and reaching for Qui-Gon’s cock, slicking it with his own pre-cum.

“Let me get the—“

Obi-Wan touched his lips. “Just lean back a little.” He crouched over his lover, as Qui-Gon leaned back on his elbows, and carefully fitted the older man’s hard cock against his opening, slowly impaling himself. It was fascinatingly erotic to see his cock disappearing into Obi-Wan’s body as he felt his lover opening and giving way to him, and to watch the changes of emotion and sensation on the young man’s face as his muscles pulsed around Qui-Gon’s cock. Obi-Wan sighed gently and opened his eyes when Qui-Gon was buried deeply inside him. His irises beneath the heavy lids were a stormy blue-grey, his brows arched in concentration as they were during a hard lesson. Qui-Gon wondered for a moment who was teaching whom.

Obi-Wan pulled him back upright, and Qui-Gon slowly lowered him back in turn as Obi-Wan drew his knees up and locked his legs around Qui-Gon’s waist, arched over the hands locked at the small of his back. They moved unconsciously in time with the music still playing around them, as though it had become as integral as their heartbeats.

With the first thrust they both moaned and shuddered, Qui-Gon surrounded by tight velvet heat, Obi-Wan feeling pierced to the core, filled and completed. “Qui . . .” he moaned, rocking, rocking with the beat, thighs locked tightly around his lover.

Qui-Gon thrust into him again, slowly at first, as Obi-Wan leaned back more, head tilted back, arms flung outward as though falling back from a high dive. Qui-Gon let him down gently onto his shoulders and rocked upright onto his knees, hands gripping the younger man’s hips as he thrust in again, harder. Obi-Wan’s fingers dug into the carpeting and he cried out, a wave of pleasure rippling visibly through him, his cock filling and rising again.

This was so obviously part of the dance yet, the way they were moving again, Obi-Wan following his master’s lead, letting him dictate the rhythm and the choreography. Qui-Gon led slowly, thrusting gently, angling to hit Obi-Wan’s prostate, watching with delight as he shuddered and moaned each time. “Harder, Qui!” Obi-Wan gasped, and his lover obliged, pulling out slowly and thrusting back in quick and hard. Obi-Wan cried out and pushed against him, onto him. “More, more, more, Qui!” he panted. And soon Qui-Gon had bent him double, Obi-Wan’s thighs against his chest, and was pounding into him, Obi-Wan straining against him, working his own hardened cock. Qui-Gon felt his balls draw up, watching the younger man pleasure himself, felt his pelvis tighten, thrust in hard and held himself there, held Obi-Wan’s ass against his groin and pulsed deep inside him, crying out his lover’s name. A moment later, Obi-Wan bucked against him and stilled to a trembling tension, moaning as he came.

Qui-Gon pulled away, letting his lover unfold carefully, and lay down beside him, panting, languorously propping himself up on one elbow and drawing his fingers down over Obi-Wan’s chest and belly. He leaned over and licked the semen from Obi-Wan’s skin, savoring the bitter saltiness, the unique smell and taste of his lover. “Beautiful, beautiful,” he murmured, “so beautiful,” cleaning him gently.

Obi-Wan stretched under Qui-Gon’s tongue and caresses with equal languor, running his fingers through his master’s heavy hair and letting it fall repeatedly over his skin. “It’s so good with you, Qui. It’s always so good.” The music floated over them now like a soft breeze, warming them both with its remembered heat. “Who taught you this dance, Qui?” Obi-Wan asked, twirling a strand of his lover’s hair around his fingers.

“You did,” he said quietly.

Obi-Wan looked into his eyes, saw love and gratitude and wonder. He took Qui-Gon’s face between his palms, thumbs caressing the eyebrows, and pulled him down into a warm, equally grateful kiss. They explored one another’s mouths in a leisurely manner, neither of them in any hurry, Qui-Gon’s large hand running gently up and down Obi-Wan’s body.

“Dance with me again, my love?” Qui-Gon whispered, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his neck, his throat.

“Always,” Obi-Wan sighed.

 

* * *

 

 

Bail Organa watched the younger Jedi dance with his sister and caught himself biting his thumb as he did so, an old habit he fell into when disturbed or distracted. Smoothing out his features and wondering what had unsettled him, he sipped his drink and continued to observe. Delia’s glittering skirts swirled around her legs, showing a flash of knee or thigh through the slit as she and her partner flowed across the floor together. She was smiling widely, clearly enjoying herself, as any young woman of 19 would with a handsome young man of similar age. They made a pretty pair, his elegant sister and the handsome Jedi—what was his name? Kenobi?—in his tight dress blacks, despite the young man’s ridiculous haircut.

In another era, family honor would have required him to call the man out, Jedi or no, not for daring to dance with his unpartnered sister, but for having the audacity to dance Arigo with her and dance it so . . . well. When they had first been introduced by his father, Bail would never have suspected this solemn young man had the kind of fire necessary to do what he was doing now. The music seemed to change him completely. Bail had never seen anyone’s hips sway in a manner quite so subtly erotic before. He’d never seen Delia dance like that before either, certainly not with their dancing master. And this young man wasn’t even Alderaani! Yet he danced with the fire of life burning in him, as Delia danced.

One by one, couples on the floor moved aside to give the two more room for what was becoming a virtuoso performance, and Bail watched as the redhead and his dark-haired sister improvised together, her skirts swirling, his braid snapping like a whip. He lifted and whirled her effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing, and seemed to know just what she wanted to and could do, though he was clearly leading. Though both were smiling, the young man’s brow was furrowed a little, rather charmingly, Bail thought.

“Lovely together, aren’t they?” His father’s voice in his ear startled him. “I’ve not seen anyone dance like that since your mother and I were young.”

“Yes,” Bail agreed, tearing his eyes from the pair to glance at the elder Organa, who was grinning broadly. “They look as though they were made for each other.”

“I should like to see him dance Arigo with his true partner,” Loran Organa said with a touch of wistfulness.

“And who would that be?” Bail inquired, surprised. He’d never heard of Jedi being paired with anyone.

“His master, Qui-Gon Jinn. They’ve been lovers for several years now.”

Bail raised a brow. “Really? Quite an age gap between them, isn’t there?”

“Thirty-five years, Jinn tells me. I’ve never seen him happier in the 25 I’ve known him. And it’s about time.”

“And his apprentice?”

“Ah—see for yourself.” Bail’s father nodded toward the dance floor, where Delia and Kenobi had finished to enthusiastic but genteel applause. The young man’s master had walked onto the dance floor and was obviously asking Bail’s sister if she would do him the honor. Politely feigning exhaustion, she handed her partner off to his master, and the pleasant, genuine smile with which Kenobi had favored Bail’s sister became incandescent when turned on the older man.

The next number was slow and the two settled into each others arms with a comfortable familiarity. For a moment, it was odd seeing Kenobi as the passive partner, he had been such a fiery leader. Then Bail realized he was not so much passive as communicating with his partner in some way not readily evident. The two of them were making this dance together equally, silently, and making it more erotic in its restraint than the previous dance had been in its display of virtuosity.


End file.
